Turning Turtle
by storytelleric
Summary: A Tauren Hunter is pulled from his relaxing retirement in Halfhill when an old associate makes a request that he can't ignore. ** Proofread by Sabrina06


Several months in the Halfhill farming community had turned Stormfoot's hair long and shaggy. The Tauren hunter didn't even carry his massive gun anymore, preferring to leave it stored out of sight on his farm. Everything here was so laid back and safe that it seemed wasteful to always lug the beast of a thing around. Worse, it was rude! Unlike the culture of Mulgore, in Pandaria one did not bring weapons when visiting friends. It seemed to imply a threat, rather than displaying a willingness to help defend the host's home.

Certainly the adventurers and travellers that regularly came through town would show up wearing their flashy armour and riding exotic beasts, but as time passed, Storm considered himself less and less one of them.

Meanwhile, Storm's pet turtle was content to wander around the farm and occasionally harass the goats that grazed in the nearby fields. Rocktail had been Storm's stalwart companion for over two years, and had stayed at his side through endless adventures.

Storm spent his days tending the farm and negotiating at the market. He would occasionally get requests from old friends to plant particular herbs or other crops, and he was happy to oblige. Working the valley's soil was never anything less than a pleasure for him. Evenings passed lazily on the porch of the Lazy Turnip, often exchanging stories and debates with his friends Teng and Kora.

Then came the Goblin's mail.

Ksin had long been a reminder of more ... complicated ... times in Storm's life. Certainly, the conniving little green man had saved the naive Tauren from making a number of financial blunders in Orgrimmar a few years back, but Storm had started to wonder if he was being taken advantage of. Ksin knew that Storm had excellent skills in locating many different kinds of resources, and so he often sent specific requests for particular herbs or minerals. Since the Goblin had never been to Pandaria (in fact, Storm suspected he had never even left Orgrimmar since arriving), the requests were often for the exotic materials found across that continent. But this time was different - the list included an exotic variety of Cinderbloom that Storm recognized as only found in the southern reaches of Mount Hyjal. This would be far more challenging.

The next morning, Storm pulled the oilskin off his massive tusked gun, coaxed Rocktail out from under the house, and began his journey. Between Wing Nga's magical kites and the portals in the Shrine of Two Moons, getting back to Orgrimmar took much less time than Storm hoped it would. It was a city he hated - even without Warchief Grommash's rage burning across the landscape, it had nothing of the beauty of Thunder Bluff, or anywhere else for that matter. He couldn't understand what the Goblins (or the Orcs) saw in the place.

With haste, Storm made his way to one of the high towers on the south side of the city, and gave a loud whistle. Within minutes, a massive proto-drake dropped to the ground, smoke and steam pouring from her fanged mouth. Rustflap, as Storm affectionately called her, preferred the hunting grounds of Durotar and the Barrens to anything in Pandaria. Therefore, he only took the creature there in times of great need.

And these days, he put forth significant effort to -avoid- times of great need.

Swinging up onto the drake's back, Storm directed her launch and direction with the ease of their long companionship. The pair turned north and began gaining altitude. Mount Hyjal, true to its name, was almost as far -up- as it was -away-. The wind increased steadily and grew cold, but Rustflap was the strongest flier that Storm had ever known, and she powered through it without even a slight deviation.

After a few hours of flight, they crossed the barrier mountains that separated Hyjal from the surrounding lowlands. In the distance to the north, Storm could see the great tree Nordrassil. He angled westward, around the ruins of Sulfuron Spire, where the Firelord Ragnaros had made his base during the Cataclysm. Storm clearly remembered taking part in the attack on the Firelord's domain three years ago. In fact, he had lost a companion there; Rocktail's predecessor, a black-shelled turtle named Ironback, had been killed by the great Elemental Lord Rhyolith. Fighting down the memories, Storm directed Rustflap down into the crater. She, at least, was largely immune to the heat and toxic gases that permeated the area. Rocktail's innate toughness also allowed him to ignore the toxins, but for himself, Storm tied a cloth over his muzzle to cut down on the fumes and particles that threatened to choke him.

Even with Ragnaros no longer occupying the Spire, fire elementals still infested the area in vast numbers. The dregs of the Twilight Cult also lurked in the shadows, making this a dangerous place to be alone, even with the enchanted red armour that Storm had acquired from his time in Pandaria. Rustflap dropped Storm off a safe distance from the streams of lava still pouring out of the Spire, and flew away to play in the thermals rising above.

Shouldering the great gun, Storm began methodically working his way around the crater, stopping occasionally to dig growths of the Ashfall Cinderbloom out of its hidden nooks and cracks. More than once, he had to hide while mortal or elemental threats passed close by. Traversing the hot rocks, he was repeatedly glad to have rock-hard hooves instead of soft fleshy feet.

After four hours, Storm had almost enough of the herbs to fill the Goblin's order. He had sent Rocktail away for safety while investigating a large lava pool that lay at the base of a cliff. He was edging around the pool to get to a promising outcropping of rock, when suddenly a wave of heat washed over him from above. He glanced up to see a cascade of lava bursting over the edge of the cliff and raining down toward him. With a yell of fear, he dove forward, charging towards open ground twenty feet away. He felt liquid rock splash against his back, searing his mane and fur, but he managed to get away from the bulk of the impact. Relieved at the narrow escape, he turned his attention to his bandages, when a flicker of motion in the lava caught his eye.

The deluge of lava had not dissipated into the pool as he had expected; in fact, it was rising up in a female humanoid shape over twenty feet tall, covered in sheets of flame. The malevolent look it gave Storm left no doubt as to its hostility, and he scrambled away from it across the rocks. Any last hope that it might leave him alone was dashed when it advanced, claws outstretched, a violent screech emanating from its lava-dripping mouth. "Slayer of the Firewalker!" it hissed. "I remember you! This time, you will burn!"

That was when an explosion of ice at its feet froze the creature solid. Storm hadn't just retreated from the creature, but had dropped a defensive trap in case it had followed him. Now, with the elemental momentarily paralyzed, Storm rose to his feet and took deliberate aim. A fusillade of shots erupted from his weapon, blasting entire chunks off the creature's body in the few seconds it took its internal heat to overcome the trap's magical cold.

As the elemental began to move again, Storm lurched into a sideways run to keep his weapon trained on the target. His shots continued, but seemed to have less effect; even the arcane energy of his gun seemed to be largely deflected. He fired another ice trap, but missed. Behind him, he knew, was more lava, an active stream where the lumbering magma giants patrolled. He was running out of room. Still he kept up a steady stream of fire as the elemental advanced. He could see it was hurt, just not hurt -enough-.

Finally, it pounced, wreathing Storm in searing flame. Its claws grasped his armour, tearing it apart, then lifted him up by his horns with a shrill cry of victory. Still holding his gun, and doing his best to ignore the pain, Storm jammed the weapon into the elemental's chin and pulled the trigger one last time. Its head disappeared in a cloud of flame and cinders - but it didn't drop him. Instead, a new face appeared in its chest, cackling wildly. With a twist of its flaming claws, it broke both of Storm's horns and let him fall to the ground in a haze of shock. The chest-face then drew back and vomited liquid fire over the fallen Tauren. Overcome by the agony, Storm screamed, struggled for a moment, and then lay still.

Rocktail's low, rounded form barrelled out of the shadow of a rock, charging into the elemental's mass and knocking it down. Snapping jaws, heedless of the flames, savaged its legs. The elemental quickly recovered and began to respond with swipes of its claws, but this distraction caused it to miss the motion of Storm abandoning his faked death and slowly rising back to his feet. His great gun was ruined, but he had long ago started carrying a second one; a much smaller model with only one shot, for emergencies. With one eye burned closed, he stepped up, thrust the gun's muzzle into the elemental's centre of mass and pulled the trigger.

The heavy projectile ripped through the elemental's body, removing a huge section of its torso. Still, it refused to die, but finally began to retreat back to the safety of the lava pool, followed and harassed every step of the way by Rocktail. It managed to step on the missed ice trap, freezing it again for a few seconds. The turtle used this time to great effect, cracking off one of the creature's legs. The elemental soon recovered from the trap, however, and with one final hop and stagger, it reached the edge of the pool.

From where he knelt, almost overwhelmed by his injuries, Storm saw what was about to happen. He tried to call Rocktail back, but his smoke-scarred throat managed only a croak.

When the elemental touched the edge of the pool, it seemed to surge with new strength. Whipping around, it grappled its tormentor into a bear hug. Rocktail didn't give up, continuing to struggle and bite until both of them fell backwards into the lava with a mighty splash. Storm cried out in anguish, trying desperately to stand, but only crumpled back to the ground.

There was no further movement from the lava. After several minutes, Storm managed to collect himself enough to find a healing potion in his pack. Further use of bandages and magical salves managed to get him back on his feet, leaving behind his broken armour and ruined weapons. He stumbled as close as he could to the edge of the pool, searching in vain for some sign of his companion. He called out, but there was no response.

Just when he was about to give up, a ripple disturbed the lava's surface. Wary, but hopeful in his grief, Storm backed up, trying to remember his decade-old hand-to-hand training. The ripple expanded, moving steadily towards the edge of the pool, and finally erupted into a low, turtle-shaped form. Storm stared at the creature, wanting desperately to believe that a living being could have survived several minutes submerged in molten rock, but knowing full well that it was not possible.

The turtle was scarred and covered in rivulets of lava that drew heat from within the creature's body. Smoke poured from its nostrils, and blackened prints were left where it stepped. In its jaws was the leg that Rocktail had torn free of the elemental.

In disbelief, Storm gasped his pet's name. The turtle looked at him and butted the top of its head against the Tauren's knee, a gesture so characteristic of his companion that Storm had no further doubt of its identity. The searing heat of the contact barely even registered on Storm's mind, but he -did- manage to prevent himself from flinging his arms around the turtle in relief. That this was actually Rocktail was further confirmed when it responded to the dismissal and summoning spells that Storm, like all hunters, used to bring his companions with him on long journeys.

As he waited for Rustflap to descend, Storm tried to figure out what had happened. Some kind of infusion of energy from the dying elemental, perhaps? Such things were beyond him - he needed someone with a greater understanding of magic. He remembered meeting a Blood Elf, a fire mage named Saraband in Outland; perhaps she would help. For now, however, he would need a new set of armour, and he was determined that the skin of the elemental's severed leg would be part of it.

The rest of it would be paid for by the damn Goblin!


End file.
